Oh, those words she whispers so fervently, so passionately, leave his body to shiver as goose bumps prickle their way down his arms. "Serena," he whispers, her name faltering in the wind as it gently blows against their swaying frames. His lips then purse as head ducks downward, finding hers. He seeks them with fervor, with hope, with lustful desire that swells within his chest. Hand that rests upon her waist tugs her closer to him, drawing her petite frame against his muscular one as they dance. It has slowed, the rhythm, to the point that they are barely moving, just a hint of the waltz clinging on one last shred of desperate hope.

The sea purrs softly to them, the harlot sea, the whore; alluring, enticing, seducing…

Her feet touch the water first, bare feet sinking into the wet sands as they dance. A gentle wave skims the loose topography, splashing upon her ankles, embracing them, then skittering away before she can step further. Into the tide pools she lets him guide her, the two figures continuing to dance. His thin grey shirt clings to his upper body while the loose-fitting pants he wears shimmer in the moonlight, the onyx silk smoothly reflection pallid hues from the heavens. In stark contrast, the pure white of her satin nightgown flutters on the gentle breeze, bare legs (so enticing, such sin upon which to look!) guiding her movements, so elegantly dancing with him.

Cool water caresses their skin as soundlessly they continue to dance. Her hand strays from the base of his neck, slowly trailing down his chest. She feels his own hand tightening its grip, now palming the small of her back as his fingers dabble so precariously at the rise of her hips, that enticing curve leading downward from her spine. Fingertips press against her skin, gripping her ass as he pulls her body against his. Lips ferociously meet hers, ravenous for another kiss from her. She gives it, so willingly, to him.

Sin is so beautiful when its committed in the secrecy of nightfall;
where only the ocean and moon are witnesses.

Deeper into the water she wades, tugging him along with her. Their bodies collide as a swell lifts her body, crashing it against his own. He holds her tightly now – the sea is calm, though unpredictable. The sands shift beneath their weight but she ignores it completely. He is more cautious – something that is of rare form for Chuck, who is usually irrational when it comes to this sensation of desire, of sex – clinging tightly so she does not trip. But she cares not, casting all thoughts of sensibility aside as she lets her hands leave him for a moment. Pulling back the long, tangled mane of blonde curls that skims her back on the wind, she pulls it back with the use of a rubber band before she lets her fingers seek his skin.

Skimming his chest with the pads of all ten fingers, they trail from his collarbone toward his stomach. She smiles faintly as she reaches where the shirt ends and pants begin, and she parts the fabrics. Such contrast between cotton and silk, she savors the feeling of silk against her skin as she toys with the string that ties his pants, confining her from him. Focus shifts once more, returning to the fading, thin cotton as she lifts it, peeling the shirt from his body. Bare skin prickles at first touch of the brisk air and she smoothes it with one palm while removing his shirt completely with the other. Dropping the grey article to the waves, she giggles softly. "Oops," she whispers before leaning in to kiss him again.

Desire causes her to need him, desire causes her to never cease;
she will not rest until he touches her.

Breath caught deep in his chest, he feels her hands all over his bare skin. She is torturous in her actions, and he is prepared to wake at any moment with a painful erection and a lack of affection. But each passing second leaves him in the wake of reality; no fantasy present here. He imagines that when reality is shot to shit, fantasy takes over, creating a world that one desires, that one longs for, that one needs. It is fantasy that often replaces the pain of humanity, the ache of reality. But now he is living a dream – fantasy come to life as his hands slowly crawl down her sides. The curve of her hips makes his heart race, already turned on by her gentle touch and perfect figure.

He cannot suppress his need to have her.

Fingers sought the lace fringe that decorates her satin nightgown and he toys with it gingerly, giving her a coy smile. She mimics it, right brow arching as though presenting a challenge to him. "Tease," she mutters softly as he releases it, hands returning to trail along her body. But she is frozen in her accusations, words hanging on the now-still air as each hand cups one of her full breasts; his eyes admiring their shape.

"You truly are perfection, S. A perfection that needs to be tainted," he whispers against her cheek as his index fingers each trace along her areolas, feeling the nipples (and her skin, perfect skin prickling with pleasure) react to his touch. She moans softly then, and the sound is enough to make him want to throw her down upon the bed and fuck her until he can no longer move. However, the lolling seas and the sheer nature, the bestial nature of fucking her here amongst the waves, has distracted him. Hands lower from her full curvature, trailing down along her hips, then inward – delicately tracing just along the outside of her core, the pinpoint center of her pleasure center. He feels her body grow rigid as his fingers press intently against the satin panties that she wears, already soaked from the water into which they have waded – intensifying his touch threefold.

"Chuck," she whispers to him as she feels his hands covering her, teasing her. Right leg lifts slightly, wrapping itself around his own leg while still remaining poised upright. Hips grind themselves upward and against his body, as though trying to force his fingers where she desires him most. But he begrudgingly pulls away, shaking his head.

Chastisement won't flee from his lips;
but perfection can never be rushed.

"Patience baby," he growls against her ear as he leans in to nibble it, tongue flicking the lobe gingerly. She shudders against him and he smirks against her skin, content. He is torturing her, success is his! She groans again as he pulls away, now focusing on the lace trim once more. He then pulls upward and the nightgown shifts itself before slowly peeling up, away from her body. Her arms lift almost mechanically – delicate as she had when she danced earlier – while he removes it. Moon, as it lowers in the sky, silhouettes her perfection – every curve kissed by the pallid moon, making her look all the more inviting.

Painful pleasure, it swells within him as he watches her, lust filled and craving.

Taking her into his arms, they sway and move, bare breasts from her chest leaning against his as they cling to one another, dancing the unknown dance of two forsaken lovers, bruised lovers, forgotten lovers. In their misery comes harmony in the song they now write – the symphony of the sea, of bruised love and of damaged hearts.